Sarah Corvus isn't a fool
by greenteafarm
Summary: Sarah Corvus isn't a fool: she knows full well what she is doing. She could've been a hero once.


She's locked herself in her apartment, half-heartedly hoping that she can escape, and maybe live a normal life, inasmuch as fi

She's locked herself in her apartment, half-heartedly hoping that she can escape, and maybe live a normal life, inasmuch as fifty-million dollars can grow legs and walk away. A laugh escapes her throat; it's impossible to leave this business, this life behind. Maybe a body bag will do.

She stumbles over to her bed, breathing hard. The night was fruitless: no rumors on the street to investigate and no one to punch.

Sarah knows the mystery surrounding her (the wary way Anthros eyes her, the wary movements of the guards, even Jaime approaches her with caution) is all due to her two-digit body count.

She scoffs at that, of course. As if Anthros, Jae, Ruth even, don't have numbers, pictures, headlines maybe, to their names. A manila folder in a forgotten file cabinet somewhere full of mementos from a past life, the different identities, CONFIDENTIAL stamped in red ink on the cover. Working in an organization this twisted, it's only fitting.

It's something she wants to tell Jaime (she wouldn't believe Sarah anyway) but she won't. Jaime is too entrenched in the archetype of the good girl, the hero, the neighbor you'd trust with your kids or cat on a night out. Why bother? (Whoever listens to the villain, anyway?)

In a different universe, Corvus might've been the hero instead of a villain. Sarah's not stupid; this is a fight that's been decided since the start. She is the blonde to Jaime's brunette, the weed for the pesticide to vanquish. If possible, convert. Every story needs an oppressor and a liberator; Sarah's only acting out a part. (Except who is to decide that Sarah isn't the hero, and Jaime the oppressor?)

Her words and actions stick in her mouth sometimes – they seem unreal, feigned. A punch forgotten in mid-air, a sentence broken off halfway through, as if she was running on autopilot. A soft warning comes out as a snarled threat, an embrace a punch.

It's dangerous to second-guess one's actions in the field.

She might as well go with it.

Sarah Corvus does not consider herself a fatalist (_Fate is for fools who try to make excuses, _she once snarled at Jae) nor is she going to roll over and die. She's been on this earth for some thirty years now and in the biz for over ten. Some fights you can whoop, and some fights whoop _you_. She hasn't had this much fun in ages.

Except she's wobbling like a human Jenga tower, just about ready to collapse with each passing day, each new fight, each new burden. Just the thought of another year in her melting body makes her queasy.

She's a ticking time bomb, pin between her teeth.

The bedsprings squeak and she closes her eyes in frustration. It's not the knowledge that she is falling apart that irks her; she understands. But it's the fact that _she can't do anything_ about it that makes her grind her teeth in pent-up anger.

Bet Jaime doesn't know Sarah's not the first Bionic Woman – Anthros' dirty little secret. Well, one of them, at least. (Bionic Woman -- All of the team says it with reverence, capitalized letters, like it's something to be proud of, wasting body and all).

Nameless, faceless, the previous girls have been reduced to numbers on a sheet, a list of statistics to crunch and enter into the computer, experiments to illustrate which defects need to be rectified in the future. Girls mentioned tersely in frank reports, sentences, peppered here and there, of how they succumbed to nature.

(She reckons Anthros left the folder with the papers out on purpose, the sly bastard).

Jaime's not her only solution, hopefully, but the ball is dropping down ever so slowly, and she can't think of any other easy fix. Or, for that matter, any fix at _all_.

She throws the covers off her shivering body, doesn't look down at the soaked-through sheets. She stumbles and curses for good measure; the neighbors don't care. She's a decadent freak, but with the state she's in now, she needs a seedy place, one where no one would question her or even care.

Corvus knows the path to Jaime's apartment like the back of her hand: twenty-three blocks, nineteen if she takes a risk here and there and leaps diagonally across buildings.

A coached plea is already running through her mind as she sprints. But she's expecting a fight more than hugs and kisses. And that's something she understands, no matter what state she's in. After all, she's a Bionic Woman.


End file.
